Happy Birthday
by TheYmp
Summary: After some hurtful truths are exchanged while fighting the shapeshifter in 1.06 Skin, the brothers decide to take some time out to celebrate Sam's birthday. Starts as Family/friendship angst, but gets darker - remember this *is* Supernatural! Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**After some hurtful truths are exchanged while fighting the shapeshifter in 1.06 Skin, the brothers decide to take some time out to celebrate Sam's birthday. Family/fluff, but remember this is Supernatural.**

**A/N: Set at the end of 1.06 Skin. AU, because I've taken liberties with the date of the episode and Sam's birthday which actually occurs a couple of months afterwards. I've never seen or heard of the brothers celebrating a birthday, so I've assumed that's another sacrifice they've made. This story was actually originally inspired by too many playings of The Birthday Massacre's 'Happy Birthday' (the version from the Violet album) - a band I hadn't heard of until I read about them in someone's profile (sorry history doesn't record who, but THANK YOU!) - although the plot's now a **_**million**_** miles away from that original idea and **_**happier**_**, if still slightly **_**psychotic**_**. This story wrote itself mainly as procrastination stopping me from my other WIPs, which I assure you I haven't given up on. Sorry, this note's now longer than the fic itself...**

**Happy Birthday**

The shapeshifter, in the guise of Dean, had Sam pinned to the floor and was slowly, but surely choking the life out of him. Sam struggled his hardest to escape, but this thing was _strong_ and he could already see black dots dancing in his vision.

His sight now blank, Sam heard, rather than saw, the door crash open and his brother - his _real_ brother - shout out. The terrible pressure on Sam's throat ceased and a second later he heard a couple of gun shots ring out. His eyes cleared just in time to see a look of absolute fury on the stolen face of the creature attacking him. The lack of oxygen must have been getting to him, because - for just a moment - he had a flashback to the same look of betrayal he'd got from his brother when he'd told him that he was giving up hunting and going to Stanford.

The shapeshifter fell dead across Sam, knocking him back down to the floor. Dean crossed the room in a flash, flipping the body over to get it off of Sam and helping his brother to his feet. Dean stood there for a long moment lost in thought as he looked down at his dead double. He leaned down and yanked the amulet from around the shapeshifter's neck before re-tying it around his own with a self-satisfied smirk at his brother.

~#~

Sam climbed into the Impala after saying his goodbyes to Becky and Zach. His brother was already behind the wheel, tapping on it in time to the music from one of his cassettes. He seemed a little distracted and jittery.

Sam recognized the look, it usually meant his 'no chick-flick moments' brother nonetheless wanted to talk about his feelings. The only way to deal with this was to wait it out and let it happen in its own good time.

Fortunately, this time he didn't have to wait too long.

"Listen, I'm sorry Sam," Dean said at last.

"Huh? About what?"

"I heard what that _thing_ said to you. I _was_ jealous of you, but I was really pleased for you too, y'know?" he said blushing while staring out of the windshield, studying the gray clouds on the horizon.

Dean gave a heavy sigh worthy of Sam's standards as he turned in his seat to make eye-contact with his brother.

"I'm sorry I dragged you back into this life. I wish things could've been different and you could just be... Joe College."

"No, that's okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in," said Sam, more moved by his brother's confession than he could put into words.

"Well, that's 'cause you're a freak," said Dean with a hint of a smile.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam replied in mock-sarcasm.

"Well, I'm a freak, too," Dean grumbled, in what Sam assumed was meant to be a placating tone, as he started the engine and pulled away from the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I know you are," laughed Sam

"Y'know, I gotta say, but I'm sorry I'm gonna miss it," said Dean after a couple of minutes silence.

"Miss what?" asked Sam, perplexed.

"How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?"

The brothers laughed together far longer and louder than the joke deserved, but it did the intended job of releasing the tension that had built up between them, before they settled into a relaxed and companionable silence.

"Y'know, we should totally do something," said Dean, mindful of the date.

"Really?" Sam asked, trying not to appear too pleased.

"Sure! It's been a tough time recently and we never do birthday stuff. We should."

"That would be... great."

"Y'know, I think saw a nice looking place earlier, just round here somewhere," said Dean pulling the Impala into a parking spot just outside a trattoria-style restaurant.

Dean led his bemused brother into the family run place and as the grandmother-like owner bustled over to greet them Dean turned on his usual charm offensive.

"Y'know my brother Sammy here, it's his birthday. Is there any chance you could arrange a cake and candle for him?"

The beaming gray-haired woman agreed and got them seated, all the while chattering away to them about everything and nothing. She left them with menus while bustling off again to get their drinks order, and was back in a moment with a couple of beers which they made short work of.

"Another?" asked Dean, not really expecting a no for an answer.

"Er, actually, would you mind if we had red wine?" Sam asked feeling a little shy.

Dean rolled his eyes, "It's your birthday dude, go crazy," he chuckled, _'cause seriously how blue collar is this wanna be lawyer?_

At the urging of the server both brothers opted for the lasagna - Dean forgoing his usual cheese burger. It was absolutely delicious and they agreed it was the best they'd ever eaten. Sam also had a massive side salad and Dean didn't tease him about it - he even ate some himself.

As the meal came to an end the owner brought out a chocolate cake with a couple of candles and the whole restaurant sang 'Happy Birthday'.

Sam gave Dean a bright smile, ducking his head a little embarrassed to be the center of attention, but not really minding, his eyes shining with happiness. This was the best day he'd had in a very long time.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Dean gave a small crooked smile in return. He reflected that while he would do _anything_ for his brother, sometimes it was the little things that meant the most.

He was distracted from his chick-flick moment by the owner flourishing an old Polaroid camera at them.

"Smile," she cried, "Say cheese!"

"To remember," she said, handing him the photo. "Now for some cake, yes?"

"Now we're talking," smiled Dean as they tucked enthusiastically into the delicious chocolate fudge cake.

Sammy excused himself to go to the bathroom, stumbling just a little from the unaccustomed wine that seemed to have gone straight to his head.

Dean picked up the photo that was finally developing, waving it in the air to help it dry. He smiled with fond affection at the picture and the big dopey smile on his brother's face.

He sighed at the sight of the silver flare in his eyes that marred the image. _Big give away_. He discretely turned the photograph face down, as he motioned to settle the bill.

"Ready to go?" he asked, when Sam returned.

"Thanks Dean, it's been really great."

Dean stood, clapping his brother on the shoulder and pulling him into a quick half-hug, while slipping the incriminating photo into his jacket pocket.

"Happy Birthday, Sammy," he grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Happy Birthday Chapter Two**

Sam was looking for the keys to the Impala, he was sure they had be _somewhere_ in the motel room. Dean had wanted to go get something to eat in the fast food place next door, but Sam had wanted to hit the library.

Sam looked in all the usual places and was just on the verge of calling his brother to make sure he hadn't taken them with him, when he saw Dean's leather jacket hanging on the back of a chair.

_A-ha!_ He lifted the jacket and felt the distinctive heft and clank of the keys. Putting his hand in the pocket he was surprised to catch a finger on a sharp corner of plastic and as he withdrew his hand he recognized it as the Polaroid picture from the restaurant they'd gone to a couple of months back for his birthday.

He smiled at the fond memory, that evening had been a real turning point in his relationship with his brother. It was like Dean had finally recognized him as a fully-grown adult with thoughts and dreams of his own.

Dean had sacrificed so much for him in caring for him growing up, and he grimaced at how in retrospect he could see how ungrateful he'd been as an adolescent, but hey, that only made him like any other teenager.

He could appreciate now the things that he'd been unaware of back then; his brother's loss of childhood, living from hand-to-mouth supplemented by his brother's shoplifting, and the many meals Dean had missed to ensure Sam stayed fed and happy. So yes, he'd been unaware, but even that was a testament to his brother's love for him.

Still, up until his birthday just gone he'd been really bothered by some selfish thoughts, how long exactly was he meant to be grateful for, and was ruining his own life the only way he could pay back that debt?

It was tough in its own way to be the younger sibling, to always feel that he was being bossed about and that his opinion didn't count. But recently Sam had noticed that Dean seemed to be more accepting of him. He'd always had a close bond with his brother, but it was like it'd stepped up a notch and Dean now seemed to have a deeper understanding of him in a way that he hadn't before.

_Yes_, he smiled to himself, _things have really turned a corner_.

He looked down at the photograph in his hand.

_The eyes..._

He staggered over and dropped heavily into the chair. He felt faint, his legs like jello. He clawed at his collar with his left hand, it felt too tight and he couldn't breathe properly. He wanted to stop looking at the photo, but it was like his fingers wouldn't work to let him drop it.

He sat there staring at the picture, no longer sure what he was looking at, or what he was doing.

He sat there for a long, long time.

~#~

He heard the key in the lock, and a moment later _Dean_ came bursting into the room like a force of nature.

"Whoa! Sammy why you sittin' in the dark? You nearly scared the crap outta me," said Dean, surprised, but pleased, to see his brother.

He carried on walking into the room, putting some take-out bags down on the table in from of Sam.

"Hey, I thought you were going to the library?" Dean continued. He paused for a second, a look of concern passed across his face like a dark cloud on a sunny day, "You okay?"

Sam palmed the photo and slipped it out of sight. He look up at Dean, his forehead all scrunched up, "I, I'm fine. I... fell asleep, is all," he said in a small voice at odds with his size.

Dean smiled down at his brother, he'd never admit it, but that sad puppy-dog look got to him every time, "Don't sweat it, Sammy. You deserve the down time, it'll keep till tomorrow."

He pushed a brown bag towards Sam, "Here you go, thought you might be hungry, so I got you that salad-thing you like," he said chuckling at the thought of anyone voluntarily choosing to eat squashed lettuce and stale cubes of garlic bread. _Still, if I was __**starving**__ I guess I could pick the chicken out_, he thought.

"Thanks Dean, I... appreciate it. I appreciate you too, y'know."

Dean gave him another concerned look, "Are you _sure_ you're, okay?"

Sam sucked in a deep breath and seemed to give himself a little shake, "Yeah, I wasn't sure, but yeah, I am okay," he said his voice firm as if he'd come to a major decision.

"Well, you're welcome Sammy. Glad you're finally seeing just what a great brother I am," he joked giving Sam a cheery wink, as he set off the bathroom. _Brothers, who knows what goes through their heads sometimes_, he thought shaking his head in affection for his Sammy's funny ways.

"Yes. I am," said Sam quietly to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Happy Birthday Chapter Three**

They were driving along in the Impala listening to _Ride the Lightning_, Dean was singing along at the top of his voice while casting the occasional sideways glance to his brother.

Dean was worried about Sam, never the center of attention his brother had seemed a little quieter and more withdrawn than usual the last couple of weeks or so. He wasn't aware of anything that might have happened, and so by process of elimination he wondered what it was that he'd done wrong.

"Hey, you feeling okay?" he asked with concern.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, I'm fine just feeling a little tired I guess," Sam answered, without really giving eye-contact.

Dean still had a sense of wrongness, and if nothing else he was an expert in Sammy-care.

"You've not had any more bad dreams?"

"What, visions? No, not since before Lawrence," Sam answered surprised at the line of questioning.

Sam thought back to their meet up with their Father's friend, the psychic, Missouri and he wondered again at her odd treatment of Dean. He had thought she'd been a little mean to his brother, but he wasn't sure if it was an indication that she knew something more than she was letting on, her eccentric sense of humor, or just him over-analyzing.

After all, from her spectacular failure in banishing the poltergeist from the old Winchester family home, it was clear she wasn't infallible.

He hadn't wanted to let on what he knew, as that would mean really facing some truths he wasn't quite ready for. _Do you really prefer your brother's imposter - and likely killer - to the real thing?_ whispered the serpent-tongued voice in the back of his head.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, the concern clear in his voice. Sam realized that in his woolgathering he'd missed whatever it was his brother had been saying for the last couple of minutes and he hadn't even noticed the sweet mercy of the 'music' being turned down.

"Sorry, Dean," he apologized, shaking his head. He mentally scolded himself, _Let's do it the Winchester way_ - he'd already made his decision he now just needed to stick with it.

"I'm fine, man. I'm more worried 'bout you - that was a pretty bad shock you got," said Sam thinking of their recent case. He'd seen the nasty-looking burns on Dean's hands from their illegally customized Taser when he'd pulled his unconscious brother from out under the smoking remains of the redcap.

"Nah, it takes more than that to bring me down," Dean smirked, glossing over that he healed quickly and his accidental electrocution would have caused him considerable harm, and may even have killed him, if he'd been human.

"Hey, y'know I heard of a possible case near Sioux Falls," he added, wanting to change the subject, "We should totally swing by Bobby's, we haven't seen the old guy in ages. Who knows, he might even have heard from Dad."

Sam looked at him for a long moment, his forehead all scrunched up in his patented bitch face of confusion. _Bobby? __**Dad?**__ How far is this going to go on?_ he wondered, it was true they hadn't seen Bobby for a while, but _nothing_ got past that sly old dog.

"Okay," he agreed and then grinned in automatic response to the look of pleasure on his brother's face.

~#~

It wasn't too many hours later until they pulled into the Singer Salvage Yard. Sam unfolded himself from the driver seat of the Impala, relishing the chance to stretch-out the aches in his long limbs.

Dean wiped sleep bleary eyes as he collected his duffel from the trunk and fussed with the contents. He rubbed his hands together and looked over at Sam giving him a broad grin, but this faded in an instant and he froze in his tracks at the sound of distant barking growing nearer.

Not noticing his brother's sudden anxiety, Sam moved eagerly in the direction of barking.

"Hey there, Rumsfeld, who's a good boy then?" he called in baby talk as Bobby's large Rottweiler padded into view.

The heavyset dog slobbered happily over Sam, but started a low rumbling growl at Dean's approach that culminated in loud aggressive barking.

The door to the house swung open with a crash and Bobby Singer stood in the doorway with a shotgun trained on the brothers.

"What in God's name are you two idjits doing to my dog?" the grizzled hunter demanded.

Sam hurried over to Bobby with a big smile and his arms spread wide, but slowed at the wary expression on the old man's face. He turned to follow Bobby's gaze and saw his brother standing stock still while Rumsfeld approached him teeth bared and growling.

"Good boy, Rumsfeld, it's me, Dean. Good boy," he crooned to the dog, holding out a hand for him to inspect. After a moment Rumsfeld seemed reassured and he sniffed and snuffled at Dean as if he were in doggie heaven. Sam exhaled in relief and it was only then he realized he'd been holding his breath.

Bobby narrowed his eyes at the brothers having picked up on Sam's anxiety about Rumsfeld's unusual reaction to Dean. _They're hiding somethin' and with those damn fool Winchesters there's no such thing as a pleasant surprise_, Bobby thought in resignation.

~#~

Bobby came back from kitchen with an opened bottle of beer for each of them.

He took a pull of his beer and seemed to relax as he watched as Sam took delicate sips and Dean chugged down half his bottle in one go before wiping his mouth with the back of a hand.

"So, I hear there's a hunt going down and you were looking for some help?" said Dean more to fill the awkward silence.

"'S'right. Werewolves," answered Bobby.

"Werewolves," repeated Dean in a flat tone of voice. _Shit, silver_.

Without warning Bobby threw a couple of shotgun cartridges in his direction, "Catch!"

Sam leaned in and caught them both in one hand before they reached his brother. Dean pulled an exaggerated 'impressed' face at his brother's display of exceptional reflexes.

Sam held the cartridges out in the palm of his hand, not even aware of the quick flick of his eyes towards Dean when he realized they were silver, before placing them down on the kitchen table.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment as the pieces fell into place, trying to control his blushing, _Busted_. He wondered what was going through his brother's mind, but there were more immediate things to deal with first.

"Really, Bobby? Holy water in the beer, devil's trap under the door mat, and now silver bullets?" he stepped forward and picked the cartridges up from the table, holding them out in the palm of his hand as Sam had done, before handing them back to the older hunter.

"You gonna read our tea leaves next, before y'believe it's us?" he smirked.

"Ah, what can I say? I'm a suspicious ol'son of a gun, so sue me, it's why I've lived so long. C'mere," grumbled Bobby as he pulled the brothers into a warm bear hug.

~#~

Sam looked at Dean's hands in pointed curiosity. It wasn't the question the_ shapeshifter_ part of Dean was expecting, nor certainly the most pressing or even the most appropriate, but then that was also part of the _Winchester way_.

"Swarfega hand cream," Dean admitted, "I kinda expected Bobby to pull something like that. Course he should've got us to use a blade, it would've burned like a bitch."

Sam mouth twitched and he raised an eyebrow.

"What? I use it before working on the Impala," said Dean blushing, "It's pretty hard to impersonate an FBI agent when you're covered in engine grease," he said in defense as Sam's eyebrow climbed even higher.

"I didn't say a word, you want nice hands, I get it," said Sam putting on his best butter-wouldn't-melt expression, "I'm just wondering what your excuse is for all that hair product you keep using," he laughed.

~#~

**A/N: **_**Swarfega**_** is a hand cleaning product popular with mechanics in the UK – they also do a barrier cream to stop the grease getting into the skin, so makes cleaning easier – using this is why the silver didn't burn **_**Dean's**_** skin. I'm **_**fairly**_** sure it's available in the US.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Warning: Bobby makes an appearance, so expect cussing from here on in...**

**Happy Birthday Chapter Four**

"I need to talk to you," Dean said as soon as Bobby was gone.

San huffed, "You're _really_ not him, are you?"

Dean looked at him with an expression of irritation for what felt like a long moment. A blush spread across his cheeks, "I'm more him than you could possibly understand," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "How long have you known?"

For one awful moment Sam thought he was going to see his brother _cry_, now it was his turn to blush. He studied his boots with an intensity more akin to his approach to research.

"A couple of weeks," he muttered.

Dean looked at him in shock, "How?" he said at last, which wasn't really the question he wanted to ask.

"The photo from my birthday. I could see... your eyes."

"Oh, I s'pose I should've got rid of it. Do you still have it?"

"Er, yeah. Why?"

"Cause it's a nice photo," Dean said shaking his head as if Sam had lost track of his senses.

Sam had felt like he'd been losing his sanity ever since he'd found the photo in the first place, and this conversation really wasn't helping, it was all too surreal. When he'd decided he _needed_ his brother no matter what, he'd approached it in the typical Winchester fashion of burying his head in the sand and avoiding any thoughts of the reality of the situation.

Dean still didn't look satisfied, "So what are we going to do about this?" he asked.

Sam didn't want to think about this, he _couldn't_ think about it, so went back to studying his boots. _I am __**not**__ going to cry, goddammit_, he thought.

"Do we have to _do_ anything? I missed you so much when I was at Stanford, then with Dad gone and Jess..." he looked at his older brother with wet puppy-dog eyes.

"We seemed so close and we were really getting on. For the first time in my life I didn't feel like I was draggin' you down. Then I found out you weren't... _you_.

"But you're so kind to me, you don't seem evil. Is that so wrong? And I just tried not to think about..." sobbed Sam, unable to continue.

The part of Dean that wasn't Dean wondered what exactly he'd got himself into, with this family that was somehow almost as messed up as his own, as he pulled his brother into a tight hug.

~#~

"I'm a younger sibling too," said Dean in a gentle voice, after Sam had managed to compose himself, "And like you I didn't want to get into the family business, y'know, hurting people, killing them.

"I saw my chance and took it. Growing up, I did some terrible things - mainly to stop my own family from killing me. But I'm outta that now, and being able to pay it back is just the cherry on top as far as I'm concerned."

"And back at Beccy's... was that...?" asked Sam, his voice hesitant and fearful.

If he was truthful with himself, it horrified Dean this hadn't been Sam's first question, but he pushed that emotion _way_ down.

"Your brother? No, that was _my_ brother," said Dean.

"I'm... sorry," said Sam, not really sure what else he should say.

"Don't be. He was a vicious bastard, we had no choice, believe me, he would've _enjoyed_ torturing and killing you."

"And Dean?" Sam asked, his heart in his mouth, but in that heart he already knew the answer.

Dean was silent for a long time. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice catching.

He looked down at his feet, too ashamed to look Sam in the eye, but there were some things that needed to be said.

"Normally when we take a take a shape we can only hold it for a day or so, before we _literally_ burn it out. When we took your brother's shape we found we could hold it indefinitely, it's like there's something different about him, something... special.

"Whatever it is, I can sense it about you too. I know it sounds crazy, but it's almost like you Winchesters are _made_ to contain something... _terrible_.

"But for my family, to stay in one form is _heresy_. My brother felt it was an affront to our Mother.

"Dean was already in a bad way after my brother grabbed him – we can create a mental link to copy memories, I'd already escaped when I felt it break... I'm sorry, I know I should've tried to help him, but I was just so _desperate_ to get away.

"You think your family's messed up - your lot are a walk in the goddamn park compared to my mine," Dean said as this time his brother pulled _him_ into a hug.

~#~

Bobby reflected, not for the first time, that there was no such thing as a _simple_ case, and that being drawn into thinking so was just an invitation for fate to give you a damn good ass whuppin'.

The werewolf hunt had been a total bust, so much so that he wished he'd never called in the Winchester boys, and the worst of it was that it was all his own damn fault.

He'd been so sure he'd known what he was doing, but he'd missed that were two of the damn beasts, which meant that while they dealt with the first creature, the second one – still in half-human form - and enraged at the death of its mate, had managed to grab a hold of Dean.

Bobby had tried to shoot the werewolf with his shotgun, aiming low to avoid Dean's eyes, knowing that while the special silver nitrate shells he'd made would sting like a bitch, they'd not cause the hunter any lasting damage.

Trouble was that Sam must've forgotten they weren't using normal ammo, because he'd shoved the gun to one side just as Bobby had taken his shot.

Luckily, Sam had then managed to shove a silver blade into the werewolf's heart, but only after receiving an impressive-looking claw raking down one side for his trouble.

But it was Dean that Bobby was worried about, although almost all of the buckshot had missed him, the hunter had been _bitten_. He'd only caught a quick look at the wound on Dean's left arm, but it had been enough to see that it was nasty bite and clearly all the way down to the bone.

Dean now looked pale and feverish, with large, dark purple marks underlining his eyes, and his breath rattled in his chest like an asthmatic three times his age.

From the moment he'd let the dysfunctional Winchester clan wangle their way into his grizzled old heart, Bobby had made a promise to himself that, if it ever proved necessary, he would willingly raise the boys as his own.

He'd always wanted kids of his own and he'd been _so_ smug that he could do a better job than John's piss-poor effort, it now seemed that fate was going to pay him back big time for his hubris.

Bobby could tell that the young man was trying to stifle his cries of pain as he and Sam carried him to the car - knowing Dean it was probably to avoid upsetting his younger brother.

"You gotta get it off me", moaned Dean, as he was manhandled into the back seat. Bobby was worried, it seemed that Dean was confused and still thought he was under attack.

"It's okay, son, you're safe from them now", Bobby tried to reassure in his usual gruff manner, trying not to get irritated with Sam as he fussed about like a mother hen, but just managed to get in the way.

Bobby knew that there was a time and place for sympathetic words, but sometimes people were best served with a hard cold dose of the truth, "Listen son, I'm not gonna sugar-coat it, but you've been bit _bad_. I don't need to tell you what that means do I?"

Sam went pale and looked on in horror at his words, but Dean gave him the strangest of looks, almost _appraising_.

"I know a doctor who... understands these things, and there's just a chance that if he takes off the arm soon enough that you might not be infected," Bobby explained, getting frustrated as Dean started shaking his head. _Damn fool boy, we don't have time to argue about this_.

"No," said Dean, "I _can't_ go to a doctor."

"Sam, talk some sense into your brother."

A strange look passed between the Winchesters, they'd always been able to speak volumes to each other with simple glances even as kids. Bobby was surprised to see an abject look of guilt on Sam's face and a quick flick of a look in his direction followed by a nod, _Oh no, here it comes_, he thought.

Dean held up the blood soaked arm that Bobby had bandaged in haste earlier, "Look at it, Bobby," he said in a no-nonsense voice.

Bobby gave him a hard look, but did as instructed. As he unwound the bandages he found that his hands were shaking. The wound looked sore, but it also looked _weeks_ old.

He jumped back, bringing up his shotgun, "What the hell are you?" he demanded.

Dean pulled back the neck of his shirt, showing the spatter of angry, infected burn marks eating into his shoulder where he been caught by the silver nitrate rounds.

"Shifter," he said.

Bobby's eyes narrowed as he centered the shotgun on Dean's chest, his finger unconsciously tightening on the trigger.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow you away," he growled.

"No Bobby, stop," yelled Sam.

"You too, Sam?" asked Bobby in disgust.

"No," said Sam as he pulled out the silver dagger he'd used on the werewolf earlier and with a small hiss of pain made a shallow cut on his lower arm, showing that his flesh wasn't burning.

He might be convinced that Sam wasn't a shifter, but he wasn't quite ready to let him off the hook yet, "You _knew_ about this?" asked Bobby incredulously.

Sam nodded while carefully moving nearer to the hunter and into the line of fire between Dean and the shotgun.

"What about your brother?" Bobby confronted Sam.

"He _is_ my brother," argued Sam.

"Damn fool Winchesters," said Bobby, not for the first time that day, "It's a monster,"

"Maybe, but I'm not the enemy, Bobby," said Dean through teeth clenched against the pain, as he tried, but failed, to push his brother back out of Bobby's line of fire.

Bobby stood torn with indecision as he looked from the monster impersonating Dean, its familiar and well-loved face vulnerable and twisted in pain, and Sammy all usual puppy-dog eyes. _And both of those idjits ready and willing to take a bullet for the other – typical damn Winchesters_, he thought to himself and at that moment coming to his decision.

"Oh balls," he swore, lowering his gun and metaphorically throwing his hands up in despair. "You boys are gonna be the death of me one day," he groaned.

~#~

**Author Note:**

**Sorry this one took such a long time, but this whole thing **_**did**_** start as a **_**one shot**_** - and there's maybe one more already in the pipeline...**

**Thank you for all the reviews, alerts, and faves; it's always gratifying to know that others have read and enjoyed.**

**Please excuse the lack of firearm knowledge – I've assumed that since rock salt shotgun rounds do actually exist in real-life, then silver nitrate - which is just another white crystalline solid - could too. Although even if you were human it would still burn and stain the skin, rather than just sting.**

**Don't know if it's canon or mythology, but in this fic's universe silver **_**burns**_** weres and shifters, and a werewolf bite can only infect a **_**human**_**.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

**Warnings: Bobby makes an appearance, so expect cussing from here on in...**

**Well it **_**started**_** happy-ish, but it's going to get a lot worse (seriously) before it gets what you might laughingly describe as "better" so some of you may want to go off and read **_**The Littlest Elf**_** instead.**

**Happy Birthday Chapter Five**

It had been a fraught week for Bobby; first Dean had suffered a severe reaction to his silver poisoning, shortly followed by Sam collapsing from a fever brought on by his claw mark injuries becoming infected. Bobby had ended up playing nursemaid to both of them, never letting on to Sam how precarious his brother's survival had been.

Although Dean hid it well, it was obvious that the black-stained lesions from the shot gun pellets still caused him pain, but at last he now seemed to be making a good, if slow, recovery. Bobby had even teased Dean a couple of times about being hosed down in the backyard to get the silver off, like he did to Rumsfeld whenever the dog rolled in something unsavory.

But those Winchester boys now seemed to be on a mission to eat him out of house and home, use all the hot water, and leave cup rings on every available surface. _Is it so damn hard to use a freakin' coaster, for heaven's sake?_

Said brothers were now fast asleep and taking up all the space on the sofa, oblivious to John McClane kicking South African terrorist butt on the TV, as Sam lay slumped and drooling under his brother's good arm, while Dean's head lolled back and the windows vibrated to the sound of his snoring.

Bobby had decided at that point that he needed to get some fresh air, not to mention it would be "feeding time at the zoo" soon, so had set off to get some supplies when he realized that he'd left his wallet behind, _Jeez, I'm gettin' old and losin' my mind, but at least I noticed before I got __**all**__ the way to the damn store_, he thought as he swung the truck round.

Bobby was in the business of automobile salvage, or rather that was the theory as far as the IRS was concerned. In practice the location was too remote to be accessible and combined with his unfortunate telephone manner meant that customers were a scarcity - and that was _just_ the way he liked it.

So it was with some suspicion that Bobby noticed the blonde woman driving back past the scrapyard. She was a pretty young thing, and in an expensive foreign car too, so memorable, and he thought he might have passed her on his way out. He saw that she struggling with what looked like a map, but otherwise seemed okay, so he decided she must have just been a little lost, and put her out of his mind.

He had just got back into the house when the phone rang.

"Bobby? It's Dean," said the tired and desperate sounding voice from the other end of the crackling phone line.

"Humph," grumbled the old hunter who, though he agreed with Sam that _Dean_ was indistinguishable from the original, still had moments where he questioned the sanity of his recent actions and so wasn't entirely comfortable with having invited a goddamn _shifter_ into his home. "Where are you, I thought you were resting?"

"What? I'm in hospital, Bobby, it's a long story. Listen, I phoned to see if you could help me track down Sammy. No one's seen him for months," explained the weak sounding voice at the other end of the line.

"Oh hell, you better get your ass here pretty damn quick, boy," said Bobby over the sound of _Dean's_ snoring coming from the other room.

~#~

Bobby arrived at the hospital and found a pale and bruised Dean waiting for him.

"Man, are you a sight for sore eyes," said Dean, grateful to at last see a familiar face.

"Well, you just look sore," joked Bobby taking in the young man's appearance with concern, "It looks like you've had seven shades of shit kicked out of you. What happened?"

"Shifter got the jump on me, I tell you Bobby they are _strong_. It kept me locked up for a while then suddenly went all mad on my ass and beat me to a pulp. Y'know, for a minute there I really thought my number was up,

"Police found me in the sewers apparently, my face was so badly beaten that luckily they didn't recognize me from the APB and all the news reports - now _that's_ a silver lining,"

At Bobby's odd look Dean laughed and added, "Oh yeah, while I was unconscious I seem to have had my fifteen minutes of fame - I'm a dead serial killer now, would you believe."

Bobby did believe, when he'd identified himself as Dean's father the medical staff had soon filled him in details of the young man's six week-long _coma_, and how impressed they'd been at his determination with the physiotherapy to try to get him to walk again. Ironically, they'd also revealed that the police had him listed as a John Doe, victim of one Dean Winchester, deceased.

"When I saw the news reports I knew Sam must've been okay if he'd ganked the shifter, but he must've made off in the Impala and I can't get hold of him. I lost my phone and none of the old numbers seem to work anymore."

"Sam's safe son - and so's your car," he laughed at the way the man brightened almost as much again at the news of the Impala as he did for his brother.

"Then why isn't he here, Bobby? Why'd he leave me?" Dean asked in a distraught whisper, the sunny disposition gone in an instant.

Bobby gulped, _This is __**not**__ going to be an easy conversation_.

~#~

As Bobby pulled up in his truck outside his house he wondered if, with _three_ young hotheads, he was going about this the right way. He'd already conducted his own tests on Dean while still in the hospital, but he still hung back and surreptitiously prepared a couple of silver nitrate rounds in his shotgun, _Just in case_.

At Rumsfeld's excited barking to see his master, the door to the house swung open and Sam emerged still bleary eyed and stretching from sleep, his older brother trailing after him yawning.

Dean exploded from the truck, gun in hand, panic seemingly able to achieve what physiotherapy couldn't, "Sammy! Get away from him," he ordered.

Ever the hunter, Sam covered him with his own gun, "No, you stay where _you_ are."

The shapeshifter at his side squinted at the new arrival, "Sam, no. I...I don't know how, but it's _him_... it's really him," he said the shock clear in his voice.

"Oh great, Sammy. You leave me for dead; I spend days searching for you while I'm worried sick about you, and all this time you've been playing _Happy Families_ with _Face/Off_ here," Dean, the _real_ Dean, bitched as Bobby passed him his crutches and helped him regain his balance.

Sam just shrugged, his face burning, after all what on earth could he possibly say? What words existed that could take the sting out of the facts - that he felt closer to his brother's duplicate than the real thing? Was he even capable of articulating the level of self-loathing he'd felt when he'd discovered the truth, and then decided to do nothing about it?

"Please don't blame Sam, it was my fault - I really did think you were dead," pleaded the double.

Dean did a passing fair impression of Sam's bitch face at which the _other_ Dean blushed as he realized how it sounded, "I mean, I thought my _brother_ had killed you," he stammered in explanation.

"Well, it wasn't through lack of trying," Dean grouched as he looked at his double in curiosity, it was somehow _more_ than seeing a reflection. Despite all the jokes and the false-confidence front he put on, it was strange to realize that he really _was_ quite a good looking guy and he was surprised at how deep his voice was - he'd always thought he sounded a little shrill.

His double handed him his amulet necklace with a wry grin, "Here, I know how much this means to me... us, sorry, I mean _you_."

"Thank you," Dean said, wondering if this was all a surreal dream, leaning on Bobby for support while tying the necklace around his neck, "Although I've lost track of how often the damn thing's nearly cracked my teeth."

"Tell me about it," his double laughed.

Relieved, Sam joined in, overjoyed they seemed to be bonding in that weird hot/cold manner his brother _brothers?_ had, "Yeah, we were chasing after this scarecrow god thing and it flew out - nearly took my _eye_ out."

It was then it really struck Dean this really was him, and it... _he_... had been hunting and living with Sam this whole time. The shock of this revelation and the effect of the pain meds suddenly went to his head making him dizzy and he swayed for a moment almost losing his balance.

Sam grabbed him under one arm and stopped him from falling in a heap on the floor and Dean put his other arm around him to help get his balance. It was then he realized it wasn't Sam, it was _him_ he was clinging onto.

If it wasn't for the black dots swirling in front of his eyes he might have pushed _him_ away, as it was he let himself be led and half-carried into the house.

~#~

Dean stepped out into the cool, early evening air, needing some space from all the stress of the new addition to the Winchester family.

"Excuse me," called a female voice.

Dean looked over, his natural instinct making him straighten, suck in his gut and puff out his chest at the sight of the attractive blonde in a red leather jacket over a black and white dress. He made a show of admiring her moves as she walked over to him, and was pleased with the knowing smile she gave him in response.

"Can you help me?" she asked.

"Well, I'd sure like to try," he drawled with a lazy smile.

"I'm looking for Sam Winchester, we were at Stanford together," she said, her voice sultry and a little breathless.

"I'm his older brother, Dean," he said with a superior smirk.

She looked at him with an intent gaze, as if staring right down into his very soul, then with a slight frown, "No, you're not," she snarled.

His blood ran cold as he watched her eyes change to become pure black, "You're getting in the middle of something that you don't understand," screeched the blonde woman, wielding a large silver knife she had pulled from her jacket.

Dean jumped back, but not before receiving a light cut down one arm, the silver reacting with his skin, hissing, and giving off a smell like roasting pork.

Rumsfeld started to bark at the woman, she kicked out with one leg and the dog yelped and ran for cover under the nearest truck.

The woman fought like the possessed thing she was, _My God she's fast_, it was all Dean could do to just about keep out of her way.

She drove him back under the ferocity of her attack and he tripped over the porch step and went sprawling, the tread smashing into the small of his back. The blast of pain made him lose sight for a moment.

Having come out to investigate the disturbance, Sam threw himself at the woman with a deafening roar of fury, sending both of them tumbling across the ground.

Dean pulled himself to his feet, groaning with the agony that spasmed down his back. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he ran across to where Sam and the demon were struggling on the ground as, with a sudden motion, she flipped Sam over onto his back.

Dean looked at her in horror, her earlier beautiful visage transformed, as she threw her head back while screeching in triumph, her eyes pitch black, blood pouring from her mouth from where she had torn at Sam's neck with her teeth.

Dean grabbed her head in both hands and, with a single, violent twist using his inhuman strength, broke her neck with a stomach churning, cracking noise. As she slumped forward, lifeless, thick black smoke poured from her mouth and fled up into the night sky.

Dean pulled the woman's body to one side to free his brother.

"No, no, no," he cried, when he saw the blade embedded deep into Sam's side.

In his panic he almost forgot the most basic lessons of both his shifter and hunter heritage - gripping the silver blade as if to pull it from his brother's body he realized his mistake just in time to avoid doing his brother any further damage, but not before his hands were burned red-raw from the metal.

He screamed for Bobby to come help. He took a single, shuddering breath and called for Dean too.

"Just lie still Sammy, I'm getting' you help, you'll be okay, just hang in there," he crooned in a series of calming, meaningless platitudes. He had enough experience of inflicting these sorts of injuries on others that he knew this wasn't something that Sam was going to just walk away from.

He turned back to the house and shouted for Bobby and Dean again, his voice hoarse with stress and fear.

"No Dean, it's too late..." Sam rasped, his voice weak.

"Don't say that," he ordered, "You're the younger brother, you don't get to tell me what to do."

A strange look came over Sam's face and he focused intently on Dean, making sure to hold eye contact.

"Yes, and so were you. And you could be again," he urged.

Dean froze as he realized what Sam was saying, "No, don't ask that of me, Sammy," he begged.

"Please, if you love me... like the brother you say you are... then you'll do as I say," Sam hissed in pain, growing weaker by the minute.

"God dammit, I love you, Sammy. You're everything I could have asked for in brother," he sobbed, stroking Sam's hair, "I... I promise that I will look after Dean, I'll keep him safe. Don't worry, you just... rest," Dean promised with all his heart, as tears poured down his face.

~#~

Bobby rushed outside, shotgun and torch at the ready. Behind him he could hear the heavy thumping of Dean struggling with the combination of stairs and crutches.

He shone the torch into the dark to reveal Sam slumped and sobbing over the prone body of a man. A heartbeat later he realized it was _Sam_.

~#~

Sam looked up and around him in awe, his surroundings were astounding, everything so beautiful it almost made him want to weep.

His attention came back to ground and at the crowds of people around him. He realized with trepidation that most of them were looking at him frozen in open-mouthed shock, while others seemed to be discussing him in hysterical tones.

A man pushed through the crowds and approached; he was dressed in a long, tan trench coat and had a mop of unruly black hair and piercing eyes of the brightest blue that Sam had ever seen.

The man tilted his head to one side in a bird-like and strangely-alien gesture as he stared at Sam, before a trace of a smile appeared on his lips.

He took Sam by the shoulder and led him away from the crowds as he spoke in low gravel-like tones of all the terrible, _painful_ things that had been _meant_ to happen.

"_**None of this will now come to pass**_," the man intoned in words that were near-deafening and that seemed to resonate in the air.

The moment passed and the man's eyes widened and he seemed shocked, but _elated_.

_Something just spoke __**through**__ him_, thought Sam.

The man shook himself and for just a brief moment Sam saw _wings_ sprouting from the man's back.

There was a sudden commotion in the crowd and Sam watched as a couple of men were dragged away all the while ranting and raving, he overhead murmurs of "Zachariah", "Raphael" and "reconditioning".

The man smiled at him again, "It would appear that it will take some time for some of us to adjust to this."

As he thought about all the good things that had happened that he had been told shouldn't have, and all the bad things that were going to happen that now wouldn't, it all became too much and Sam laughed long and loud, unable to stop until there were tears running down his face and he struggled to get his breath back.

"He was definitely. The Best. Birthday. Present. Ever," he explained to the somewhat puzzled _angel_ standing in front of him, before making his way over to embrace the two blonde women, one younger, one older, who were stood waiting hand-in-hand for him.

**THE END**

~#~

**Author Notes:**

**Hopefully, when you think about it, it won't seem like such a sad ending.**

**I love the idea of Bobby as a house-proud neat freak.**


End file.
